


My Name is Lucatiel

by VerdantSunset



Category: Dark Souls, Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls II
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Smut, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slow Burn, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantSunset/pseuds/VerdantSunset
Summary: It was in a ramshackle old house where I met her, Lucatiel, a knight of Mirrah. We would talk by the torchlight, we would become allies. As companions we would take on the dangers of Drangleic, and in time, together, we would become something more. - Lucatiel of Mirrah x OC
Relationships: The Bearer of the Curse/Lucatiel of Mirrah
Comments: 35
Kudos: 25





	1. A Meeting by Torchlight

_"Lifegem -_ _Small stone made up of crystallized souls. Gradually restores a small amount of hp._ _Often found near abandoned corpses, as if it were what remains of the soul."_

POV: Dianne

The torchlight is my only company as I make my way through the old port town. The first thing that stuck out about the place was its smell of stagnant sea water mixed with rotting undead flesh. I can't help but wonder who these people might have been before they succumbed to the curse. With all the empty houses some of them must have lived as simply laborers working at the docks. They would pull themselves out of the water as I neared them, the first to do so caught me by surprise and was able to push me into the water where my armor would be weighed down by the seawater. First time I had asphyxiated since being cursed, not the most pleasant experience. I made sure to strike any pair of hands I saw grasping the side of the pier letting them sink into the depths of the cove. There are soldiers waiting for me when I stepped onto solid land taking swings at me with curved swords aged and caked with rust. I respond in kind.

...

By the time I've finished them off I am exhausted, heavily bruised, and bleeding in the few places where their swords could get past my armor. Even after cutting them down a few of the undead men would try to grab at my legs seemingly indifferent to their newfound lack of mobility. I take the time to decapitate the stragglers before reaching into my bag for my stock of lifegems and crushing one in my hand. I feel a strong heat emit from the fragments which wash over my body filling my wounds and relieving my exhaustion. The old merchant woman told me these things were the crystallized remnants of souls. If I had not been burdened with this curse my own soul could have ended up in one of these gems. Perhaps that would have been the kinder fate.

I eventually decide to rest as I search for suitable shelter. There, up ahead. I can see torchlight emanating from the door, this one is occupied. I open the wooden door and walk through the frame, to my left is a staircase where an orange glow of flame is radiating down.

I reach the top of the stairs sword in hand, my armor clinking together on the way up. That's when I see her. She is dressed in what could be assumed to be the armor of a knight although I'd never seen a knight like this one before. It seems bereft of the heavier iron of more common armor, instead employing the use of hardened leather dyed to match the bluish-black coloration of the tabard underneath. What strikes me most of her appearance, however, is her mask hidden under a feathered hat. It is an iron mask resembling a mustachioed man with sharp features and a pointed beard. Strange, I thought, that a woman would wear such a mask. She stood there unmoving, almost as if she hadn't noticed my entering. As I come closer she stirs looking at me through the slits in her mask.

"It's nice to see someone with some sanity left." I say as an awkward means of breaking the silence. A few seconds pass before she responds, "I don't know you and you don't know me… it's better that way." She can't see my expression through my closed helmet but I feel as if she can still sense my apprehension. Regardless, I am in need of rest. I stride to a set of crates stacked against a wall on her left and sit, my back arched forward, I feel my muscles begin to ache as the tension within them begins to release.

We stay there unmoving neither acknowledging the other's presence. Like two roads that converge never to cross. My tiredness begins to get the better of me and I am on the verge of slumber when I am awoken by the sound of soft laughter. I can see her shoulders shake slightly as she attempts to suppress a chuckle. "You are an odd one." She says turning to me. "Most people would keep their distance after this mask, but you…" She pauses before straightening herself slightly. "I am Lucatiel."


	2. Partners

" _Broadsword - Standard straight sword. This straight sword is sufficient in most respects. and effective in most situations if wielded properly. Those who aspire to master the sword are certain to wield this at some point during their journey."_

POV: Dianne

So that's her name, Lucatiel. I am hesitant to respond and she continues before I can introduce myself. "I am a knight from the land of Mirrah, across the mountains to the far east" she says. "By your appearance I took you for a knight as well, but you don't carry yourself like one."

I can feel my cheeks slightly blush from her comment, it feels as if she is sizing me down as if I were an opponent in a verbal sparring match. An irrational thought springs to me that she might see my embarrassment through the steel visor obscuring my face. Moments pass as I fail to form a response. "I am..." I pause to collect my thoughts, "My name is Dianne, and I'm no knight, although the previous owner of this armor might have been."

"Are you saying you stole it?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.

I respond, "If his corpse had any objections then it didn't voice them."

She lets out a soft chuckle, "That's a unique trait to find among the corpses of this place. So tell me Dianne, if you are not a knight then what are you?"

"I honestly can't remember," I say with a growing discomfort at my ignorance. "When I think back to my past I can only recall glimpses. I had a family, though I recall nothing of their names and faces. I was a farmer… I was always hungry." There is silence in the air for a few seconds. "I'm just a nobody, some worthless peasant who happened to be cursed." I look to her, "you on the other hand. You're a knight, you had a life before this. What brought you here?"

"I heard Drangleic was brimming with powerful souls so I came to claim my share," she says. "Although, even the rumors did not prepare me for the strangeness of this place." She pauses, before chuckling again, "You are an odd one, indeed. I've always made a point of avoiding people, but you've made a point of engaging me." She leans forward standing independent from the wall. "You have yet to tell me what you're doing in Drangleic."

"I'm here for a similar reason I suppose, powerful souls… I remember wanting something that could only be found in this land, but I don't remember what," I pause thinking hard before I again speak, "I can feel my memories failing me. When I try to recall my life before coming here. I can only recall fractured memories, a forest, a lake, old fire keepers who knew more about me than I did." I look to Lucatiel but she is silent. "Would it be alright with you if I removed my helmet? It's not the most comfortable thing to wear."

She leans back against the wall, "Do as you wish, I will not stop you."

Metal clinks against metal as my mailed hands fumble with the leather strap keeping my helmet secured. When it is off I hold it in my lap looking at the bent visor and the hints of rust at the edges of the metal. I try to distract myself from her piercing gaze, the feeling of being sized up feels so much more palpable now. She can see my face, the numerous scars and scrapes the mess of my hair, cut short and ragged with a knife to better fit into the helmet. How plain I am, brown hair and eyes, someone who was once a peasant and is now even less than that. At least I look human, not like when I hollow and my flesh starts to rot and fall away, my fragile body failing me.

"You seem ashamed of your appearance." She says as a matter of fact, causing my cheeks to burn now unprotected by the visor.

"I…" I don't know what to say.

"You shouldn't be." She says with equal confidence. "You should take pride in the body you have."

I couldn't believe what I had just heard. What this knight of Mirrah was telling me. She looks at me again showing no emotion. I realize my mouth had fallen open out of surprise and I snap it shut, as I shift my gaze unable to meet her eyes, my face a bright crimson. "Th… thank you." I eventually force out.

We are silent for a moment until I hear her breath out a sigh, as if to relieve some tension within her. "If you want to know the truth, if you had happened to find yourself born in Mirrah, then it would be likely that you would be a knight not unlike myself. Knighthood is granted based on one's ability and is only given to those worthy of it. That is how I gained my knighthood after all."

"Really? The way you hold yourself, I assumed you had to be nobility."

"In all honesty, I never was." She says taking a more relaxed position, "Status is obtained in Mirrah through military service and after joining the order I had quickly risen to the rank of knight. But before that I had no money to my name, only by the sword would I be able to make a name for myself."

I am speechless, I feel intimidated just looking at her but she means to tell me that she was once a commoner like myself. The realization hits me that she is waiting for a reaction. "I see…" my cheeks flush again, "It was kind of you to compliment me like that, though I feel undeserving of it." She seems to shift in her stance for a second, as if to object to my comment, but before she can speak I say, "I haven't been trained to wield a sword, in fact I had never held a sword before coming here. The only reason I've survived so far is because-" I stop as I realize what I was about to say. I can't tell her I'm undead, what would she think of me then?

She seemingly ignores the last part of my speech to say, "You will improve with time, and you will do so even quicker if you have my help."

"You don't need to do that on my behalf." I weakly object.

"It is my decision to make and besides, if we are going to be traveling together then it would be best if you're better able to defend yourself."

"Traveling together?"

"For the time being we happen to have the same goal, we are both seeking powerful souls and we have a better chance of succeeding in that goal if we become allies. It is as simple as that." She says as a matter of explanation. Seemingly indifferent to the fact that she had assumed I would want to travel with her. Just because it's true doesn't mean she shouldn't have asked.

"Well how do you know whether or not I want to travel with you?" I say averting my gaze.

She lets out a soft chuckle of amusement, "I can see it in your face." As my cheeks begins to burn under her gaze she takes a few confident steps towards me before outstretching a hand. "Regardless, you are right in that I should have asked. If you'd like to join me then just shake my hand."

As I stand up from off the crate I say, "It would be an honor." And I shake her hand, a battered mailed gauntlet meeting the fine leather of her glove.


	3. The Undead Curse

_"Redeye Ring - A cursed ring depicting a demon eye. Becomes easier to be detected by enemies. If it is tranquility that you seek, then you should never have left your home. If you seek strife, then fair enough, but no need to overdo it."_

POV: Dianne

She truly is worthy of the title of knight. That thought stays stuck in my mind as we travel through the wharf. From the moment we left the crumbling house we had been set upon by hollows. But when I see Lucatiel among them, cutting through them, her sword a wheel of light in her hands, never stilling and always slick with blood, I feel as if I am safer than when I left home. In fact, not a single one of them was able to land a blow on either of us, Lucatiel saw to that.

In my left hand is a torch, I don't use a shield and Lucatiel is the better fighter anyway, I might as well provide her with light. She seems like a completely different person now. Before she seemed a tad guarded, though who could blame her, but she had still opened up and talked to me. Now she only talks to give short commands: stay close, there's hollows around that corner, keep the torch lit. I did everything she asked without question, it's strange to say but I trust her despite how aloof she's been. Regardless of anything else she certainly lives up to her title, it seems like seven out of every ten enemies we face are slain by her sword and their deaths come far more swiftly.

"Stop, there's something moving ahead." she says, breaking me out of my thoughts. I look over her left shoulder trying to get a better look, there's a house ahead, its stone walls crumbling and inside is a long limbed beast with a stretched, slick black hide. Its front two legs are elongated to the point of needing to be folded upon each other, their elbows pointed upwards, by comparison their legs were much shorter almost stubby underneath the creatures long torsos. Its head is small for its body, its face and forehead smooth and eyeless with a toothless maw below it. It simply shuffles around the ruined house, at the moment, blind to us.

"Do you think we should try our luck against it?" I ask, shifting my gaze towards her.

"Our path passes by the house and while it might not notice us, I don't want it to catch us from behind. Besides, there might be more like these ahead and I want to see what they might be capable of." As she says this she smoothly slings her shield onto her back and she begins to step towards the creature wielding her sword with both hands. "Stay behind me."

Steadily Lucatiel moves forward, her footsteps barely audible against the stony ground, sword at the ready. I merely follow at a safe distance, providing light.

She's closer to the broken wall now, the creature is hunched over something in the corner of the room, it still hasn't noticed her. Then she sprints towards it.

It turns towards her as she gets in close. But before it can do anything she plunges her sword deep into its side, so deep that the sword's tip sticks out the opposite side of its torso. A strike like that should have killed it but instead it goes on the attack swinging its arms at her. She rolls to avoid the strikes, leaving her sword stuck in the creature's chest.

I sprint towards her torch in hand. She dodges again before grasping the hilt of her sword. She plants a foot against the creature's chest and pulls. The creature turns, causing her to lose her grip and fall to the ground.

I yell, "Look out!"

But before she can move the creature grabs her with one hand and slams her against one of the walls. She kicks with her legs trying to break free as it violently crushes her chest and throat.

I am almost upon it now, if it noticed my warning it didn't show it. Almost there.

I enter through the broken wall broadsword in hand as it turns. It reacts violently at the sight of the torch. It drops Lucatiel from the wall, and she collapses in a fit of coughing. The creature, in fear of the open flame holds its hands in front of it in a defensive stance, backing up on its stubby legs stumbling into a corner.

For a moment, I stand there keeping the torch in front of me. I don't know if it might move or attack if I get too close. But then, I hear the sound of a dagger being pulled from its scabbard.

Lucatiel springs out from behind me, rushing the creature. It barely even takes notice, too preoccupied with the flame, as she plunges it underneath the creature's chin. Black blood spurts out onto Lucatiel's gloved hand as she wrenches the dagger free, spilling even more blood. The creature lets out a gargled screech as it falls limply to the floor.

Lucatiel takes a moment to catch her breath, calmly cleaning the knife of the blood before turning to me holding the knife hilt first towards me, "Sorry about taking your knife, I acted recklessly and I put us both in danger."

She always seems so serious, but she doesn't know I'm undead, so to her what she did really did endanger my life. I awkwardly push my visor open with my sword hand so she can see my smile before I sheath my sword to take the dagger from her hand.

"I think you were more brave than reckless." I say, without thinking.

She plants a firm boot on the creature's chest before pulling her sword free, its blade slick with an oily black blood. "You are too kind." She says softly chuckling.

I can't help but laugh along with her, the movement of my chest causing a slight bit of pain in my exhausted lungs. We are interrupted, however, by a noise from the wall left of the entrance. I hadn't noticed it during the struggle but there was an opening there as well, large enough for us to see into the other room where three more creatures similar to the first one waited. Swiftly, two of them made their way through the opening before blocking off the entrance to the house. The other one walks forward blocking the other opening. From there, they stand idly, they too seem scared of the flame, but their numbers have given them confidence.

I turn to face them, then I hear Lucatiel's footsteps behind me. She places a hand on my shoulder, blade in the other hand, "Keep the torch lit." She says.

…

Rain falls in torrents as I trudge along the muddying ground. The trees of this forest are stark white and bare of foliage, seemingly bereft of life. The rain chills me to my bones, seeping through my tattered, roughly sewn garb. I had attempted to make up for the poor quality by wearing multiple layers, but the soaked cloth now only serves to weigh me down and help the chill set in. The only constant I've had on this journey is the rain. I remember a point when I woke up, face down in the mud, a position where I couldn't have possibly been able to breath. I must have died of exposure and the curse brought me back just so I could do it again. But ahead I see shelter and I think it shelters the one I've been looking for.

The shack is of a small size, but it was well built, the rain washing off of its thatched roof onto the muck below. The shutters of its windows are closed. I can't tell if there's anyone inside, but it's not like they'd be able to do anything if I just entered without permission. I mean what are they gonna do, kill me? I lift the iron latch of the door and I step inside. The first thing I notice is the candles, dozens of them all painstakingly lit and dripping with hot wax. They cast a warm orange glow throughout the cottage contrasting the bluish grey of the weather outside. On the wall is a spider the size of my hand but it scutters out of sight. I can hear the sound of a spinning wheel further inside, there is someone here.

From the next room I can hear a woman's voice, firm, but weathered by age, "Please, come in. We have much to discuss." At her request I move into the room.

The next room is cluttered with pots, tools, and even more candles. At the far end of the room is the woman, an old crone wearing a shawl of a dark red coloration covering her body and most of her face. There she sits, hunched over a spinning wheel methodically spinning out a material like spider's silk. As I step into the room she lifts her head, despite the milky whiteness of her eyes I feel as if she is staring right at me. She opened her mouth to speak, she's missing several teeth. "Yes, you certainly are far along into your curse." She cackles at that, as if she'd made some kind of joke.

"I was told you know of some kind of cure." I say.

She began to laugh harder at that, stopping only to let out a few dry coughs. "I can't cure you myself, but I know where you need to go."

"I'm listening."

She let out a raspy chuckle, "You might have seen it before, perhaps in a dream. A murky, forgotten land. It is there that souls will mend your ailing mind. You will lose everything to the curse, your past, your present, your very light." I could feel her eyes staring into mine. "None will have meaning, and you won't even care. If you surrender to your fate then you will become something other than human. A thing that feeds on souls. A hollow."

She began to turn the spinning wheel again. The wheel creaks as it turns along its axle. "Long ago, in a walled off land, far to the north, a great king built a great kingdom. I believe they called it Drangleic. But one day, you will stand before its decrepit gate, without really knowing why. For that is your fate."

...

Pain wracked my body as I returned to consciousness, my senses are still dulled, but I can still feel the pain of what must be a dozen or more wounds. The creatures left long gashes in my arms and back. I am face down, in a pool of my own blood, at least I think it's my blood. I feel something shaking my shoulder, trying to motivate me into moving. "Dianne! Wake up!" I feel her hands push me onto my back and I let out a groan of pain. "At least I know you're awake." She says before unclasping my helmet. She pulls it off and I can see that it has some new dents.

After all that carnage she still has her mask on, I'm honestly kinda impressed. She cradles my head in one hand before lifting an estus flask to my lips. By this point I've been acquainted with the taste, but I still get quite a kick from the drink. I don't know if I'll ever be able to fully describe the taste of estus. It is hot, almost to the point of burning the throat, but it brings much needed warmth to a body on the verge of death. It feels like the warm sunlight on a peaceful day, like the warmth of a family. For a moment it can make one forget they are undead, if only for a moment. I can feel the heat fill my body, closing my wounds, and soothing my pain.

The warmth stretches to my head, healing the fracture in my skull and my fogged mind. And I realize, she knew to use an estus flask, she knows I'm undead. She takes the flask from my lips as my wounds fully heal, and I move away from her feeling ashamed, wishing I could hide my face. "You knew." I say, as an accusation, "How, long? How long have you known!?" Tears well unbidden in my eyes, and they run down my face carving tracks through the grime coating my cheeks.

She doesn't respond, instead she stares at me, if she has an expression it's covered by the mask.

"Do you know what it's like? To die and to wake up a corpse, to slowly lose your mind as your body decays around you!" She's judging me again, just like before. She just wanted me to be her meat shield. She never saw me as an equal.

Slowly, she starts walking towards me, holding out a hand. "Please," she says, "Just calm down. Let me explain myself."

I feel ready to pull myself apart, but I force my breathing to steady, my heart is racing.

"I had heard of the undead curse. How an undead gradually loses their humanity, until they eventually turn hollow and begin to prey on others." She kneels down to look me in the eye. "I do understand what you are burdened with. But, I've heard that an undead can avoid this fate with the help of the souls found here. At least if the legends are to be believed." She reaches a gloved hand up to her mask, before pulling it off.

"And I can only hope that they are."


	4. War

_"Estus Flask Shard - The shard of an Estus Flask. Shards are deeply soaked in Estus. Graft the shard to an Estus Flask to increase flask uses. Over the ages, countless souls rested their bones as they drank from the original flask. And now this shard remains, serving as a vestige of their hopes and dreams."_

POV: Lucatiel

The plains stretched on as far as the eye could see, only broken up by the occasional rock, tree, and the encroaching enemy army.

If my title got me anything, it was the privilege of not being the first to die. Not that it's doing me much good now, I am to be in the vanguard with my brother. From my horse I can see the lines of infantry, the cavalry, the men and women on horseback shouting orders through their masks, the symbol of knighthood.

I lead my horse to the front line where my brother is waiting. It has been said that when we are both in uniform my brother and I tend to be indistinguishable, although he's a little broader in the shoulders than I am. It was especially hard to tell us apart when we were younger, when we were both training to be knights. From behind I can see that he has made a neat braid of his hair that falls to his waist. He's on his own horse, and I can see he has pulled off his own mask to better look through a spyglass.

"There certainly do seem to be a lot of them out there, don't you think sister?" He says, shifting in the saddle to face me with a grin.

"It's a larger force than ours if that's what you're saying."

"True," he laughs, "but they don't have the cavalry we do, and they don't have knights of our caliber." He raises the spyglass to his eye again. "I can see their banners but I can't remember which lord they represent. Do you remember?"

"I might, if you handed me the spyglass."

"Not after the last time." he says.

"I won't break it again if that's what you're afraid of."

In a huff, he stows the spyglass into a saddlebag, "It seems their commander is behind the center of their line, standard enough. If there's anything that might give us trouble then it would be the archers behind their infantry. But..."

"But?" I interrupt with.

"But." he says, slightly annoyed at the interruption. "If we charge to their center then they won't risk firing on us for fear of hitting their own men. From there our infantry can support us while we head for the commander."

"Well it's not one of your worst plans." I can't say I share his confidence, but it's nice to have him here. "You should keep your mask on." I say, trying to maintain a professional tone of voice. "If the men in your command are to look up to you, then you need to lead by example."

He laughs, "If it will make you happy Luca then I will." There is a click as he slides the mask into place. Now that he's in full uniform, he looks just like any other knight. His voice sounds slightly hollower coming through the mask, "I may have command, but I want you to lead the charge."

"Why me?" it's unprecedented for someone of higher rank to relinquish command like this. "If I am seen to subvert your authority there could be serious consequences for both of us. Especially before a battle like this."

"If you like I could command you to do it."

Even with the mask I can tell he is grinning underneath. "Do I have a choice?"

"Nope." he says, matter of factly.

I let out a groan.

I hear the sound of galloping behind us as a messenger rides up, he is a young man, no older than when Aslatiel and I had first joined the order. He salutes before speaking, "The Commander has given an order to begin the charge sir." The boy gives a hurried salute in the saddle before wheeling his horse and riding off disappearing back into our forces.

"Well you heard the lad," my brother says, "We're all waiting for your cue."

On both sides of us are the knights of Mirrah, each and everyone of them is hiding their face behind a mask. As if we were sharing a collective identity. Looking down the rows, I estimate at least a hundred knights will be part of this charge.

I steel myself for what's to come and I draw my sword, on either side I hear a chorus of steel against scabbard as each man does the same.

I dig my stirrups into the sides of my horse urging it into a gallop.

"For Mirrah!" I shout, the shouts of the others deafening my ears a second later, shouts of, "For Mirrah!" ring across the battlefield. We charge the enemy and they wait for us, spears in hand.

…

This isn't what I wanted. I want to tell her that I was harboring the same fear, of what she might think of me because of my curse, why I still wear the symbol of my knighthood. But instead she is the one who despite everything is left vulnerable. Dianne's the one and only person I've shown my face to since leaving my homeland. What I expect is shock but what I see is something else. She is still distraught, at least on the outside, but when I look into her brown eyes I can see what she really feels regret, relief, and oddly enough pity. It's strange to think she would pity me.

She forces herself to take slow deep breaths, calming herself down enough to speak, "I… I'm so sorry." She says, I can see the regret now plain on her face. Perhaps, if she looked into my eyes she would see the same. She takes another calming breath before she speaks, "I should have known you were an undead as well, and… I should have told you of my curse from the start." She can't bring herself to look me in the eye, tears still streaming down her face. "You deserved that much at least." She turns to me looking me in the eye, our faces are mere inches apart. "I was just afraid of what you might think of me. That you would rightfully want nothing to do with me." I get a sinking feeling in my chest at her words. It hurts me to know that she really thinks that. I meant what I said when we agreed to travel together.

I reach a hand up to cup one of her cheeks, for a moment she recoils from the touch but relents placing her own hand over mine, her gaze turning down. For a moment I hesitate to speak, but for her sake I do. "Dianne, please look at me." I say, gently lifting her chin with my other hand. "You are the only one I've been able to trust since coming here, the only one I've trusted enough to show my face to. So please trust me when I say that I value your companionship."

I feel her hands wrap around my shoulders pulling me into an embrace. "Thank you." She said.

…

Before long we are upon the enemy. I charge a spearman, deflecting the iron point of the spear with my sword before beheading its user. Simultaneously, knights around me cut into the enemy. Most of us are able to stay mounted but some are knocked off by spears, others become trapped after their horses fall to a spear or arrow, only to be trampled by their own allies.

Without hesitation I continue forward killing every man within my reach. These men are mere conscripts, no match for a knight. But I continue, my brother beside me.

"Hold the line!" An enemy officer yells fruitlessly, as the conscripts under his command begin to rout. Aslatiel charges him, the officer goes to draw his sword. His severed head makes a wet thud as it impacts the field.

That's when the enemy truly starts to run. Behind me comes the deafening chant of "For Mirrah!" As our infantry sweeps into the enemy, filling the gap we made. But there is no time to rest. I continue with the cavalry cutting down the fleeing enemy, some of them have dropped their weapons, they die all the same.

But then, I hear a sound at the edge of my senses- the deep thrum of bowstrings.

By instinct, I raise my shield in time to protect myself from the volley. I can feel them impact and deflect off the shield like hail off a roof. The arrowheads make a shrieking sound as they scrape against my shield and armor. I dig my heels in and my horse runs blindly fleeing the storm of arrows, bleeding from numerous smaller wounds, it's labored breathing vibrates through the saddle.

The arrows fall then there is silence.

They fired upon their own men just to attack us. The volley killed hundreds of their remaining force, but among them I can see our knights, themselves riddled with arrows. Even in death they are still masked, still holding onto their knighthood. I push away my fear that Aslatiel could be among them for there is no time to check. Again, I hear the thrum of bowstrings. "Push forward!" I yell, rallying what few knights remain.

Those who are still mounted follow my order. I hold my shield in front of me and push my horse to gallop over the newly dead. I can feel its strides slowing down as it struggles with its wounds, but I urge it forward.

I hear the arrows before I feel them. The sound of them cutting through the air before they impact my shield and armor. My horse buckles beneath me and the ground rises up to meet me. Pain shoots up my leg and I scream involuntarily at the impact, it's trapped under my horse and from the pain it must be broken. The arrows don't stop, they come down in torrents, it feels like only one in every twenty make it through my armor, one pierces my side and I gasp involuntarily. It pierced one of my lungs.

The arrows stop and I try not to choke on my own blood. I can no longer feel my leg. Blood fills my chest, less air enters my lungs with each breath. On my back and with shaking hands I unstrap my breastplate and push it off of me revealing chainmail over a thin tunic, when they fire their next volley the arrows will punch through the chainmail killing me. It's not preferable but it's as far as I get at this point to dying on my own terms.

The thrum of bowstrings fills the air.

I'm sorry brother.


	5. Awakening

_“Only those who have distinguished themselves on the battlefield were admitted into the elite ranks of Mirrah’s official order of knights. It is common to hear of a peasant’s dream of striving for knighthood as an escape from hardship, but who would ever think it possible.”_

POV: Lucatiel

I awaken slowly, a dull ache is resounding in my skull and I feel cold. My body is drifting on an endless sea, murky, obscuring anything below the water including myself. I know that I’m naked from the feeling of the cold water on my skin. There is no land in sight, no clouds, no moon, no sun. What brought me here? It’s unlike any other place I’ve ever been yet I know I didn’t travel here. I just remember the battle, that I died. Even with the darkness I can tell my body is free of arrows. Above me appears a sign in the sky almost filling in the role of a sun. A ring of fire enclosing a dark circle. It shines a dim light over the water and I am able to see myself. I can see through my right eye only. In the end I think an arrow went through my left.

I reach a hand up to feel at my left eye, strangely enough, I can feel that the eye and eyelids are still there although the skin around it is coarse like tree bark, but it still stretches like normal skin. Looking across the rest of my body I can see almost a dozen more places like it. They have a dark grey coloration, they are like scars in a way. It’s as if the arrows were removed and the space had been filled in with dead tissue. 

My leg seems to have healed in a similar way. As I move through the water I find that I can move it without pain, I run my hands over my lower leg feeling that the skin hasn’t adopted the look of my other wounds. Maybe it’s because all the damage was internal. Whatever the case might be I’m still stuck here and while the water isn’t freezing it certainly isn’t comfortable either. I begin to shift in the water trying to orientate myself vertically, but my feet impact hard ground under the water, apparently it’s less than two feet deep. Shakily I stand up the water, it reaches to just under my knees. If there’s anything comforting about this place, it’s the lack of wind, or standing out of the water like this would leave me shivering for my lack of clothing. 

I scan the horizon, there is nothing breaking up the water, not even waves with the exception of those made by me. I might as well move in the direction of that ring of fire in the sky. But then I hear something far behind me moving in the water. I turn ready to face whatever it is, not bothering to cover myself. I have no reason to be ashamed of my body, despite the state it’s in. 

Whatever I might have expected to see behind me, I did not expect him. “Brother!” He is dressed like he was at the battle, but blood has seeped through his armor from dozens of arrow wounds coloring his once blue tabard red. “What are you doing here?” He is walking towards me, unspeaking, his face hidden behind the mask of our rank. He is holding his sword limply in one hand, it’s tip dragging below the water. “Say something!” I walk through the water to meet him. When we are but a few feet apart he stops. “Take off your mask,” I demand, “If you’re my brother then show me your face.” He doesn’t move. In frustration, I place a hand upon his mask before pulling it off.

However, it’s not Aslatiel I find under the mask, it’s me. My other self is an eyeless, lifeless being it’s skin grey and decayed, peeling away in strips revealing the flesh underneath. Grabbing me by the shoulder, it lunges forward, plunging its sword into my chest. The pain fades quickly and I begin to go numb. I can feel my body dying once again. As I die however, my other self holds me up, its tattered lips move to speak, quiet enough to almost be beyond my hearing, “This is your fate.”

… 

I awake to the sound of graves being dug. This time, however, I don’t have the luxury of slowly acclimating to the pain. I can feel it resonating through my body in waves and it becomes all the more acute when I move. So instead I lay there. If there is one thing I can tell from the pain it’s that I’m alive and that my wounds have at least begun to heal. I think my leg might be intact but it’s hard to tell without looking at it and I’m incapable of sitting up much less opening my eyes.

The digging stops and I can hear bodies being methodically moved, the fact that graves are being dug probably means we won the battle, our enemy would have just left us for the crows. Although I can’t blame them, we’d do the same thing. 

Suddenly there’s a sharp pain in my injured leg as both of my legs are pulled upon. “Aahh!” I scream involuntarily. I feel an even greater pain when my legs are hurriedly dropped. “Aahh!” I scream, louder this time. I sit up teeth clenched to cradle my injured leg. It feels like fire is melting the bone from within. 

A young man’s voice replies, “Oh gods! My deepest and sincerest apologies my lady, we all thought you were dead, we were just doing our jobs I swear, please forgive us.” I force my eyes to open and I’m surprised to find that I can see out of both. The boy looks to be of about fifteen years, almost old enough to fight in our armies. He must have been assigned this task so that he could become used to the sight of dead bodies. Behind him with a mixture of fearful and perplexed expressions are a few other boys of similar ages. 

I cradle my leg with both arms, letting out a stiff groan as the pain subsides. I sigh, “You are forgiven.” Nevermind the fact that even I assumed I was dead, but that’s unimportant. After I stop speaking I realize that I’m on the same field where the battle took place, I look to the boy who had tried to move me, “I need a horse.”

…

When he got back I was on my feet again. Despite the fact that every other step causes pain to shoot through my body I refuse help even though it is eagerly given. Once I am in the saddle I order them to return to their duty and I ride off, keeping my horse at a canter for the sake of my leg. Eventually, I crest a hill where I can see our army’s camp. By the time I reach the camp my vision has begun to blur and I am leering slightly in the saddle from the pain. I get a few looks of concern from those I pass and it occurs to me that I’m still covered in my own dried blood, but I ignore them, I continue to urge my horse forward towards the command tent.

There are two knights guarding the entrance, at my request one of them helps me out of the saddle and leads me inside while supporting my weight. Inside is a table of maps of Mirrah, the lands surrounding it, and the more local and situational maps, I can see a map of the battlefield unrolled in the center with numerous different markings on it. However, there is but one other knight in here rather than the dozen or so that gather around this table before a battle. Luckily enough he happens to be the only one I need to speak to. I give a nod to the man supporting me and he moves outside. Despite the pain in my leg I force myself to stand up straight to give a salute. “Commander.”

“At ease, Lucatiel.” he says without looking up from the table. “It isn’t often that someone returns from the battlefield a day after the battle was fought. Especially when they were previously counted among the dead.”

“I was merely unconscious sir.” 

For a moment he doesn’t respond, “I assume you are here to ask about your brother. If you’d like to know where he is then I don’t know.”

My heart sinks to my stomach, “Do you mean to say he’s dead sir?”

“If he were dead then we’d have recovered his body.” he says, seemingly irritated at the question. “As far as I know he’s still alive.” He finally looks up from the table to glare at me through his mask. “He was last seen heading westward on horseback this morning. It wouldn’t be a problem if he wasn’t abandoning his post.”

It’s like I’m in another dream. Aslatiel wouldn’t just leave like that, maybe a report of my death got to him and he couldn’t handle it. But leaving seems so unlike him to the point where the Commander’s words feel like they’re describing a different person’s actions, but I have no reason to disbelieve him. 

“Fallen unconscious you say?” The Commander’s words snap me out of my thoughts.

“Yes sir.”

He grunts, “I see.” He seems to ponder something for a moment. “For now I want you to report to the medical tent, you’ll need to recover first before you go after your brother.”

I am taken aback, “I’m not going to go after him if it means deserting sir.”

He chuckles, “I can’t say I believe that, but you are right, if you were to pursue him against orders then you would be deserting. That’s why I’m ordering you to do it. After you recover.”

What he’s giving me is worth more than he could possibly know, I salute again, “I hope to see you again one day Commander.” I say as a farewell. 

He merely nods, as if to say that day will never come. 


	6. The Sentry

_ “Barbed Club - A club forged from the soul of the Flexile Sentry. The spikes covering its length are as vile as the sentry itself. Long ago, the dungeons overflowed with the accursed, and the king commanded a contorted sentry to deliver those who had no cells to a faraway land, and to make certain they were never heard from again.” _

POV: Dianne

We embrace for what seems like an eternity. It’s as if when we are together the world cannot threaten us, that we won’t lose what memories we have left, that we can remain human. She is the first one to move, pulling back from the embrace. “We need to keep going.”

She’s right, we’re still in the same house where we were attacked. Looking out the shattered wall that marks the building’s entrance I can see the bodies of our assailants piled on top of each other the majority of which are headless. It seems that Lucatiel cleared the room of them after I fell. Lucatiel stands up and offers a hand to pull me up, I take it. She carefully slides her mask back into place, she’s no longer the Lucatiel who had comforted me, now she is a knight of Mirrah. 

For a time we walk in silence, I provide light with a torch and she leads the way, as steadfast as when we first began traveling. She’s unreadable, seemingly unshaken by what happened between us. Is it that she doesn’t really care or is she putting on this front for some other reason? She probably feels betrayed herself, I regret the way I shouted at her. But she comforted me, and all the while she had been struggling with the same fear as I. 

We come across another building, this one is entirely wooden built along the cliff side that lines the inside of the wharf. Underneath it are the stone buildings on the ground floor of the wharf, several stories tall, rising up to meet it. Atop the building is a bell, relatively small, but large enough to bounce a resonant ring across the wharf. Silently, Lucatiel enters the building and I follow. We ascend the stairs making it to the roof of the building where the bell awaits. 

I stand there in silence, looking at Lucatiel, she looks back at me. A moment of silence passes, “I think we should ring the bell,” I eventually say. 

“I agree.” She says flatly. 

“If you thought that then why haven’t you rung it?”

“I assumed you would ring it.” she replies, matter of factly.

I am tempted to just ring the bell and get on with our lives, but I’d much rather mess with her. “But you defeated those monsters earlier. You should get to ring the bell.” 

She crosses her arms against her chest. “There really is no need. Just ring the bell.” 

“But I must insist, you have been so brave since we agreed to journey together. Really, this victory belongs to you.” 

She sighs through the mask, placing a hand against it as if she were to pinch her nose. In an act of resignation she takes a few short strides to the bell before yanking down on the frayed rope attached to it. The hammer inside clangs, ringing a dull tone across the water. She then turns to look at me. I am grinning behind the visor. She then says, “No need to look so satisfied with yourself.” 

Her comment causes me to laugh, chuckling at first but gradually I begin to laugh harder. But then I hear something new, she’s laughing along with me. It is quiet, almost to the point where I thought I imagined it. But it is her, and when I hear her laugh I know that I want to continue hearing it, for as long as we are together. 

The bell continues to ring unbidden now. Then, from a distance away across the water I see blue flames ignite casting a pale light against the stone walls of the wharf, contained only by cylindrical metal cages that I can only assume once held undead. The cages are hanging from the mast of a ship as decrepit as the wharf itself, boasting a hull and sail filled with holes, despite its condition, however, it makes its way to dock in the wharf, seemingly without any wind or oars to propel it. 

Standing near the edge of the roof Lucatiel and I watch the ship as it slowly enters port. Lifting my visor, I reach into my pack pulling out a pair of small, brass binoculars. Looking through them I can see movement on the ship’s topdeck. There were about half a dozen hollows, but there were two others among them. They seem to be undead hollows same as the rest, but they are far taller than the average man and far bulkier. In their hands are glaives and over their shoulders are grey cloaks, their faces are hidden behind bandages leaving only their empty eye sockets exposed. 

Having seen enough I offer the binoculars to Lucatiel, “Wanna take a look?” 

She pauses for a second before taking them from me. With one hand she gently removes her mask before raising the binoculars to her eyes. 

“What do you think of the big ones?” I say after a few seconds pass.

Without lowering the binoculars she replies, “While they’re large they don’t have any armor, if it came to blows between us and them we’d be able to take the first hit. I can’t say the same for them.” She looks me in the eye with a stoic expression and she hands me back the binoculars. 

I can tell from the look in her eyes that she’s confident, I trust her. “In that case, we have a ship to take.”

… 

The ship was waiting for us at the far end of the dock, bobbing up and down in the water. We walked along the docks, swords at our sides as by this point we had been set upon by more than a few hollows, climbing out of the water to greet us with characteristic hostility. 

As we get closer to the ship I realize that it is without any of the docking lines that would secure seacraft to a dock, it merely floats next to the dock; a raised platform and a wide plank are the only things between the two. For a moment we stop some forty paces from the platform, without taking my eyes off the ship I ask, “Do we have a plan?”

“You mean do I have a plan?” She replies. 

“Do you not?” I ask back.

She quietly sighs through her mask, “We’re faster than the hollows on that ship, including the big ones. I think our best strategy is to keep moving and to not get cornered. We’ll take out the big ones first and then we’ll deal with the stragglers.” She explains. 

I nod, “I’ll follow your lead on this one, as long as we attack together.”

She nods in understanding and moves forward. 

I follow close behind her, the boards beneath us creaking with every step as we now run across the platform over the board and onto the ship. The hollows are ready for us, as soon as our feet touch the deck they rush towards us, but instead of fighting them head on I continue running, cutting one down as I pass by it. Four more continue after me rusted weapons in hand. I pass a glimpse towards Lucatiel, she has two of them down and is rushing towards one of the larger hollows. 

I spend most of my energy trying to dodge their attacks as four hollows including the big one continue in their pursuit, the few blows that make it through glance off my armor. With a decisive stroke another one is down. I am at the bow of the ship now, they are about to corner me. The large one rushes forward with his glaive, putting his weight behind the charge. Holding my sword in both hands, I wait for the right moment before deflecting the curved blade to the side, it still manages to cut through my chainmail leaving a painful gash in my side. I ignore the pain, I turn my sword towards the massive barrel chest of the large hollow before burying it to the hilt in his chest. The blow looks to be decisive but before I can react I feel several blows land on my armor from the other hollows. 

Without pause I draw my dagger doing my best to deflect the blows looking for an opening. There! One of the hollows lunges forward missing my chest by a few inches, I grab his sword arm before slitting his throat open with my knife. That left the other one. I can see he’s wielding an axe, must be the reason some of those blows made it through the armor. Why I can feel the numerous bruises lining my skin under the armor. 

He attacks without mercy or hesitation, but he is a lifeless husk incapable of strategy. When I focus on dodging he can’t hit me. I roll out of the way and he swings his axe down embedding it into the wooden deck. I lunge at him with my dagger, cutting through the loose dead skin of his torso, leaving a bleeding gash from his right shoulder to his left hip bone. I wrench the dagger free only to see the large one from before, he spent the time I was busy pulling my sword out of his side, he yanks it out with one hand, the blade now slick with his blood, before he throws it overboard into the water.

He begins to charge me again, this time without the glaive, instead he holds his hands outward to try and prevent me from rolling. Without any other option I sheath my dagger and grab the handle of the battleaxe before ripping it from the deck. There’s nothing to deflect this time, I can only kill him. 

When he is upon me I react bringing the axe down where his neck meets his shoulders. For a moment I think the blow will stop him, but he doesn’t stop. Instead he grabs my neck with one hand lifting me off the ground. His hand is crushing my throat, his fingers are getting tighter, I can’t breath. Uselessly, I kick at his chest and face, his other arm hangs inert at his side, the axe still stuck in his shoulder. My vision is fading, and I can see black spots beginning to form. I draw my dagger again before desperately slashing at his wrist, cutting and stabbing at the tendons within. 

I drop to the deck like a ton of bricks, coughing as my lungs try desperately to suck in air through my bruised throat. Unable to use his arms, the hollow slams his foot into my back, pinning me to the deck and forcing what little air I had inhaled back out of my lungs. Even in the armor I can feel his weight crushing me. There is the sound of steel slicing through flesh and a moment later I hear his head hit the deck with a meaty thunk. His corpse collapses on top of me, but they are now limp and I am able to free myself, pushing the heavy flesh off of me. 

After I catch my breath I look to her and say, “Thank you.”

Though she tries to hide it I can tell she is almost as winded, her chest moving with every breath. She responds with a subtle nod before cleaning her blade on the hollow’s grey cloak. 

We take a moment to rest, I heal myself with another swig of my estus flask, empty. I check the satchel at my waist, only three lifegems left, barely enough to completely heal me. I look over to Lucatiel and she is drinking from an estus flask of her own. The fact that she has one means she knows the Emerald Herald. The same woman who sent me down this path. Perhaps Lucatiel and I were in some way destined to meet. 

Before long we are ready again, “Before we go anywhere I want to check below decks.” she says almost as a command, but through her mask I can almost hear a concern in her voice, “I know you lost your sword but will you be able to fight without it?”

I walk over to the now headless corpse and I pull out the battleaxe buried in his shoulder, “I can manage for now.”

“Good, then follow me.”

We open the double doors on the deck to see a staircase leading down into the ship, inside the ship we find crates, barrels, all of which are soaked by the water pooling in the hull of the ship, it is ankle deep but is relatively clear compared to the water outside. Blue light casted from the torches on the walls fills the ship’s interior. On some of the walls were racks of weapons, mostly swords, but anything metal was coated with rust from the water. We step into the water, even at ankle height it soaks through my armor. Ahead of us is a doorway shrouded in fog. 

We look to each other, we both know that once we go through there’s no going back. When I’m this close to her I can see her blue eyes through the slits in her mask, she’s ready. I walk through the fog and she follows. 

We step into a room that takes up the majority of the ship’s hull. As soon as we’re through the doorway we are set upon by the creature inside. It swings at me with two clubs both longer than my arm. I roll through the water to dodge them buying myself a second to take in the sight of my assailant. 

It has a peculiar frame, like if you were to make two men stand back to back and you fused them together at the waist. It has two torsos facing opposite directions both attached to the same pair of legs, on one side it wields clubs and on the other curved swords. It stands about ten feet tall, towering of Lucatiel and I, though it is not bulky for its size, compared to the hollows we just faced it was relatively skinny. On its body are bits and pieces of brass armor covering most of his lower body as well as his shoulders, though his chests and heads are exposed. Their skin is grey and covered with scales like that of a reptile and their heads show the resemblance, one of the heads is looking at me with its small black eyes, its wide mouth opens to hiss at me, showing rows of small, pointed teeth that could pierce my skin like row of daggers. 

It stands in the center of the room; its four separate arms, extended even further by its weapons, keep us from getting close. I can see Lucatiel on the opposite side of the monster parrying strokes from its two swords. At the same time it is swinging its clubs at me. 

The axe I have would be ineffectual at parrying so I am resigned to dodging out of the way. One of its swings skirts just off my armor, the spikes on the clubs side grate against the metal casting sparks. I get in close to avoid its attacks, hoping the length of its arms will make it difficult to hit me. Narrowly, I am able to avoid its strikes and I am able to land a few of my own, it doesn’t seem to mind the axe impacting its flesh, but I have to hope that this monster is still capable of dying. 

For a moment its legs tense, then it turns in the water, I see the swords coming at me just in time to hit the deck before it starts to attack me relentlessly. The swords are much faster than the clubs, and they don’t glance off my armor instead they dent it when I take the full force of the blow. Each blow to my torso makes it a little harder to breathe, and I know by the end of this fight I’m going to be bruised and bleeding all over.

Unable to defend with the axe I instead go on the attack. Wielding it with both hands I swing it upwards managing to create a gash near its face. For a moment the swords falter in their relentless attack. I see the opening and I take it, I swing the axe with both hands landing blow after blow against its unarmored chest, blood spurts from its numerous wounds as the axe sinks deeper with every blow until its chest is painted a dark crimson. Blows from its swords continue to rain down, but I ignore them even when I feel the steel bite through my armor into my flesh.

But then I am launched back as it kicks me in the chest, I land in the water, it has risen slightly higher during the fight and I am completely submersed, it feels ice cold in my armor. I scramble to my feet, water pours out of the now many gaps in my armor. I take a second to use two of my lifegems, their warmth spreads to my wounds. Steel impacts steel as Lucatiel puts up a desperate defense now that she has its full attention. It has her backed into a corner, the water is rising past my knees now. 

Throwing caution to the wind I rush the creature, the side with the clubs is waiting for me. I try to avoid the clubs the best I can but the water is slowing my movements. I dodge one club only to be hit by the other one. It impacts my side biting into my armor with a sickening crunch. Blood rises in the back of my throat and I spit it through the slits of my visor. I can’t stop now. 

This side has over a dozen wounds clearly inflicted by Lucatiel, I can tell from the movements of the creature that I’m not the only one tiring, it's on its last legs. I dodge as it swings wildly over me, then I go for the head. I jump extending my arm and I bring the axe down on his exposed head, it gouges into its skull and the clubs fall. Suddenly it turns again, and pain erupts from my stomach as a curved sword is driven through it. I barely feel it when the sword is pulled out. My vision begins to fade as blood pours out the wound.

The last thing I see is Lucatiel’s sword slicing through his head. 


	7. Warmth

_“Knight Armor - Metal armor worn by knights. Standard issue for new Drangleic knights. Knights have long trusted this armor for its excellent functionality.”_

POV: Lucatiel

The Sentry’s body crashed into the water, which was now waist deep, sending a wave through the interior of the ship. But it was not his body I was concerned with, it was her’s. Dianne fell just as I landed the killing blow and now she lay beneath the water. I rush to her as fast as I can through the water, her body would float but the armor is weighing her down. 

I pull her helmet off before grabbing onto one of her arms and I try to lift her out of the water, but I find it’s impossible to lift her head above the water. Blood is rising from the wound in her midsection, the water is getting red. I reach down under the water and I draw her dagger. I cut the straps that keep her breastplate fastened and I pull the dented metal off of her. Dropping the dagger, I try to lift her again, this time getting her head above the water. She isn’t breathing. 

Despite my own body beginning to fail I lift her body onto one of my shoulders, moving further into the ship I find a landing that is just above the water. I try gently to place her down, but in the end my muscles give out and I drop her the last few inches. I turn Dianne onto her side hoping that the water will drain from her lungs. After a few seconds pass I turn her onto her back and I hold her head to face mine. I throw my mask to the side and I take a deep breath. I blow the air into her lungs before breaking off to take another breath. I then compress her chest placing both of my hands over her ribs. I repeat the two steps until I hear her breath again. 

Her body reacts, coughing up the seawater, I turn her back onto her side to help the process. She’s alive, at least for now, but I still need to take care of that wound. I set about removing the rest of the armor from her arms and chest. I pull off her chainmail shirt, and with a little more difficulty I pull off the woolen shirt she wears under that. 

I can feel blood rise to my cheeks out of embarrassment at the sight of her breasts, despite the dire situation, but I ignore them. The wound in her stomach is deep and it opens up on the other side of her torso. We’re both out of estus so I can’t heal her with that. Her satchel, I remember she kept healing items in there. I awkwardly pull it from her belt and search through it, some moss for treating poison, some herbs, and a single lifegem. I pull it from the bag, I’ve never used one on somebody else but I have no choice. I hold the lifegem above the wound and I crush it, letting the crystallized souls drop from my hand. I see the light from the gem enter the wound, and with relative speed the wound begins to close. 

As the seconds pass I see the color return to her face, the blue coloration that was growing on her lips begins to fade and her breathing becomes more steady. The sight of her healing body calms me and I realize that I had been crying, the tear mixing with the saltwater that soaked both our bodies. My first thought is that of shame, it is not proper for a knight of Mirrah to cry. We are to be hard, emotionless, ready to kill and be killed at a moment’s notice. But I’m not in Mirrah, in Drangleic there are nothing but hollows, and they know nothing, not even their own names, and certainly nothing of Mirrah. 

The tears continue to fall and I let them. In the scramble to keep her alive I had forgotten my own exhaustion, my armor saved me from most of the damage but I am still bruised at over a dozen places on my body. Now that I look at the platform we are on I realize that there is a ladder leading upwards. I look down to Dianne, she has begun to shiver from the cold but she has yet to wake up. It might be best to remove the rest of her armor. With no small amount of embarrassment I go about the task of removing her boots, greaves, and the soaked clothing underneath leaving her naked and wet. I try my best not to look at her exposed body, wanting to give her some dignity, though it is tempting. 

Tattered hammocks hang from hooks on the walls. Putting my arms under her back and under her knees I lift her up, she’s surprisingly light, her physique being mostly sinew and muscle. Carefully, I place her into one of the hammocks, the rough canvas holds her the sides slightly wrapping around her bare form. At least this way she can be kept dry. I then turn to the ladder before beginning my ascent. At the top of the ladder is a small room, inside of which are several crates, an iron chest, and some sort of strangely built table of different instruments. It seems to be for navigation, upon it I can see a map of the surrounding oceans along with star charts. The map itself is of the same condition as the rest of the ship, dilapidated and with several parts missing. The only part of the map that’s still legible shows a small island, faded writing rests beside it, _The Lost Bastille._

I place a hand on the table and I feel the ship lurch almost knocking me off balance. The ship seems to move on its own, I can hear the water lap against the hull on the outside. I can only assume it’s moving us towards that location. Satisfied with that I move to the chest, the lid is heavy but I manage to get it open, inside is a scroll and a small flame, small enough to fit in the palm. It seems to sustain itself independent of any fuel. I open the scroll to find it’s written in a language I don’t understand and I gingerly place it back. Maybe Dianne will find use out of these.

I descend the ladder and I check on her. Her breathing has steadied into a slow rhythm, removing a glove I place my hand against her forehead to find her skin is almost warmer than mine. My armor is still soaked and it has been chilling my body. Blood rises to my cheeks as I realize that it would make the most sense if I take my own armor off. I steel myself, however, I am a knight, I can handle this. I start with my hat, placing it next to my mask before taking off my leather breastplate, undoing the straps and pulling it over my head. Next are my boots, pants, and the other glove. I am left with only a thin, white shirt which I wear under the armor. The wet cloth sticks to my body, I’d be warmer without it I remind myself. With shaking hands I pull at the hem of the shirt, pulling it from my body and throwing it to the floor. 

Though I feel warmer without the wet clothes, the feeling of being naked sends a chill of excitement up my spine. Even if it’s for an entirely practical purpose there’s no separating the sexual nature of this. I can feel my heart quicken its pace and my nipples grow hard from the cold air. I can feel the space between my legs grow wet in the cold air. I raise a hand behind me and I undo the neat braid of my hair, letting it fall below my shoulder blades. Looking at the hammocks the only one that seems at all inviting is the one with Dianne in it. It would be a lot warmer to simply share the hammock with her.

Whether it be from exhaustion or just the fact that I really don’t want to talk myself out of doing this, I quickly make up my mind. While making sure the hammock doesn’t tip over I slowly climb into it. The hammock is larger than most, giving enough room for both of us. I feel as she wraps her arms around me. I hold her close, and I wrap my arms around her. I can feel her breath on my chest, she is so very warm, the feeling of her naked body against mine. It’s a feeling not unlike that of bonfires or the estus flask, a kind of warmth that makes one forget they’re undead.

I put a hand to her face feeling the warmth returning to her cheek, temptation overcomes me for a second and I lean in planting a light kiss on her lips. They are soft, tasting of salt. “Goodnight Dianne.” I whisper as sleep takes me.


	8. The Bastille Part 1

_“Blossom Kite Shield - A rare shield depicting a blossoming flower, that soothes the weary heart of its bearer. What makes flowers beautiful, and why are we comforted when we gaze upon them? Sadly, the flower depicted on this shield went extinct long ago.”_

POV: Lucatiel

Minutes pass before I realise I am awake. I feel warm, warmer than I am otherwise used to. Ever since I had inherited the curse I had been plagued with nightmares, but for this night of all night I had slept peacefully. I feel as if that’s because of her. The naked woman in my arms who despite the shared heat between us still shivers from the cold of the air. Her skin has lost some color in the time I had slept, it seems the healing I did wasn’t enough, from the heat of her skin against mine I suspect she is fighting a fever.

A bonfire, if I could get her to one then she’ll recover. With that in mind I gradually untangle myself from her, leaving her wrapped in the hammock as I stand up. Free from the warmth of her body, I shiver as my bare skin is exposed in the cold air of the ship. But standing there near the hammock, I noticed something. Though the ship still rocked slowly back and forth with the tide it felt far more still than before. I think we’ve landed. 

With that in mind I set about gathering my clothes. With a groan of annoyance I notice that my boots and trousers are still damp, begrudgingly I put them on anyway. After a few minutes I am back into my full armor, mask and all. I feel much colder despite the added layers. 

… 

My suspicions are confirmed when I reach the top deck to see that the ship has docked itself. The dock itself is a simple wooden platform built over the sea. The water is a bluish-black color under the dim light of the moon. We’re I to fall in I wouldn’t be seen more than a foot under the surface. And judging from the chill of the night air, the water would be freezing. 

Putting that thought out of mind I take a careful step onto the dock. I descend the ramp that connects it to the rocky shore. Above the shore is a tall cliff with a sheer face. The only thing that breaks up the surface is a large opening at shore level, from which I can see the dull glow of a fire.

I unsheathe my sword, holding it in both hands, the hard steel brings me a kind of reassurance. When I have a weapon in my hands I am not powerless. I step into the light to see a handful of undead like the ones from the wharf, most of whom sit inactive on flimsy wooden chairs at empty tables. Two others I can see tossing scraps of wooden onto a dying fire. Despite me appearing, sword in hand in the midst of their group, they seem unbothered by my presence, merely looking up towards the sound before returning to their previous state. Seeing the weapons strewn carelessly about the room I understand that they aren’t helpless against me, there’s just nothing left to these hollows. No reason to put up a fight. 

Regardless, if they are here then they are a threat and I will treat them as such. 

… 

In the end they didn’t put up a fight. In fact one of them made it easier for me when I stabbed into his midsection, instead of resisting like any animal would he leaned into the blade sinking it feeling into his flesh. I think they might have been waiting for someone to kill them. The thought doesn’t give any comfort to the deed, however.

In the center of the room is an open cage containing an iron lift that must have been used to transport men and material from the dock below. I step into the cage and after placing the weight of one of my feet onto the metal plate in its center I begin to rise. Iron chains pull the lift with a greater swiftness than I expected from the aged mechanism but after a short time the lift stops at another floor. 

Looking at my surroundings I finally realize where I am. Cells like the walls, all of which are denoted by their iron bars which by the rust coating their surface are of a considerable age. What remains of the prisoners once kept here are skeletal and by the dust covering the floors it seems that this place hasn’t been disturbed by anything alive in a long time. In front of me through a doorway is a wide staircase with several landings all of which have cells on either side. I glance through the bars as I pass by each one. Until eventually inside one I see in a forgotten pile on the floor, embers, a bonfire. Unlit but a bonfire nonetheless.

… 

Returning to the ship, I go below decks to where I left Dianne. She is there waiting for me, but she has yet to wake up. She’s in a worse condition than when I left her. Her shivering has worsened and her lips are tinged with blue. With haste I collect her clothing and what’s left of her armor. She had fallen completely into the water, her clothing is still soaked, it would freeze her. With no other choice I carefully lift her out of the hammock and I place her onto the floorboards of the ship. I then cut down the hammock before wrapping the tarp around her. The material is worn with holes but it’ll have to do. I gently pick her up, and I carry her off of the ship in my arms. Unconsciously she leans into my chest, shivering. In response, I hold her closer. I carry her through the dock and into the cove before stepping into the lift. 

As athletic as I am I had expected that carrying her for any extended length of time would have started to burn my muscles. But she seems lighter than she should be. I tried to avoid looking at her exposed body as much as possible but I couldn’t help but notice how pronounced her ribs were. Before traveling to this land it was a trait I noticed most among the peasantry. Those in Mirrah who either refused to take up military service or were simply unable to. Even before the woman in my arms was undead she had lived a hard life. We had that in common at least. 

The lift shudders to a stop and I step out onto the floor. Dianne is still shivering, though I can feel her body getting weaker by the second. Despite my better judgement, I run the rest of the way, carrying her body up the stairs and into the cell housing the bonfire. I place her close to the embers and I extend a hand towards the base of the ashes. I’ve noticed this in the past, that the embers of a bonfire react to the touch of an undead. It’s as if an invisible energy extends from my palm to the embers, as they ignite. Flames lick at the bones scattered among the ashes. It is a small fire, but it is connected to all the other bonfires, and it is warm besides that. I feel the all too familiar effects of the bonfire wash over me, and I can see it having the same effect on Dianne.

For a few worrying seconds, she seems to stay the same. But gradually, her breathing gets stronger, the shivering stops, and I can see color returning to her skin. I release a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. She’s okay. For the first time since waking up I feel like I can relax. I put my sword and shield aside before reaching a hand up to remove my hat and mask, placing them beside me, and for the sake of it I remove my leather armor. With some annoyance I remove my boots and trousers as they are still damp. I place them near the fire before sitting back down near Dianne, only my shirt covering me. The fire keeps me warm, however, and before long I know she will be awake. I blush despite myself, when I think about how she’ll react to the situation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how long it took to get this chapter out. I promise the next chapter will be out much sooner as I tend to work on things all at once. Thanks to all of you for reading, and keeping up with the story despite my shitty update schedule.


	9. The Bastille Part 2

_ “Chloranthy Ring - The ring is named for its decorative green blossom, but its luster is long since faded. Raises stamina recovery speed.” _

POV: Dianne

When I begin to wake I feel an unnatural heat spreading through my body. It’s especially hot on my skin as I gradually regain more of my senses, the heat seems to originate from the wound in my midsection. I can hear the crackling of a fire, a bonfire in all likelihood. I must have reappeared at the one in the wharf when I was run through. 

The thought leaves a bitter feeling in my stomach. Lucatiel will have either slain the monster after my death or will have been slain herself, either way there’s no telling whether or not I will see her again. Even if we did meet again, she’d likely think less of me for allowing myself to die in such a manner. Even if we are undead, death is supposed to mean nothing to us, but there is a sense of pride lost at defeat. Not that I’ve been very careful with my body since becoming undead. Reflexively, I cringe at the memory of falling off the cliffs of Majula, I don’t even have the luxury of writing it off as an accident. It was a stupid mistake trusting that message. 

By now most of my senses have returned to me, though my skin is still fairly numb. Regardless, I’ve been laying here for too long, I begin to push myself up awkwardly off of my side, I’m halfway into a sitting position when I suddenly feel cloth falling down my shoulders. My bare shoulders, I realize. Opening my eyes I look down to see that I am completely naked save for what could best be described as a tattered blanket which has fallen to my waist. Where’s my armor? Confused, I look up seeing first the bonfire, then Lucatiel. We lock eyes for a split second before she averts her gaze, staring a hole into the floor, I do the same while simultaneously covering my exposed breasts with my arms. Blood rushes to my face and suddenly I feel much warmer in the cold air of the room. 

For a time we are both silent, and my embarrassment doesn’t lessen with the passing seconds. Eventually, my face still burning red, I gather enough courage to look back at her. She’s still staring away, like if she would die on the spot if she dared to look upon me. With a strange mixture of embarrassment and amusement, I can see that she’s barely clothed herself, covered only with a shirt. Her long legs exposed under the shirt she’s wearing. She has a beautiful body, not despite the constant combat but because of it. Looking her over I can count a dozen or more scars on her legs alone and I’m sure the rest of her body is similar. Undead tend not to get scars, those were all obtained when she was human. 

However bad my embarrassment is, at least she’s in a similar situation and with some effort I muster the will to speak, “Lucatiel?” I say, prompting a response.

“Yes, Dianne?” she utters, keeping her head turned away from me.

I think for a moment before deciding to ask the most pressing question first, “Why am I naked?”

… 

For a few minutes she explained herself, all the while keeping her head tilted away from me even after I had securely covered myself with the blanket. Her story made sense at least, but as she told it there was something that bothered me about it. It was a straightforward and logical series of events only if the individuals involved weren’t undead. Why’d she put so much effort into keeping me alive, I’d just reappear back at the wharf’s bonfire, albeit in a worse state than before, but I wouldn’t be gone. 

After catching me up to speed on how we got here, she continues, “I’m still unsure on what this place is or why the ship took us here. I’d like to explore it further…” she pauses apologetically, “I can go back to the ship to retrieve your clothes and armor, though the latter is badly damaged.”

“Lucatiel?” I say wanting to get her attention.

“Yes?”

“Would you look at me please.” I barely get the words out.

Silently, she turns and I can see a blush similar to my own on her face though she tries to remain expressionless. She maintains eye contact, stubbornly refusing to look downwards. 

“There’s still something I don’t understand.” I begin saying, “Why did you save my life in the first place? You know I’m undead, death doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Sure you’ll come back, and the effects on your body are reversible, but your mind will suffer.” For a moment she breaks her stoic exterior and I can see real concern in her face. “With each death an undead loses parts of their memory, their knowledge of their life as a human falls away before the curse. So I’m not going to let you die while I can help it.” She has a determined look in her eye, and her words bring the beginnings of tears to my eyes.

“I’m sorry you had to go through so much for my sake.” I eventually say. 

She looks at me as if she has a question on her mind, but she instead turns to gaze at the bonfire. “I have come to enjoy your companionship. So I had a more selfish reason for my actions if that makes you feel any better.” 

It doesn’t, but I thank her anyways.

… 

We rest in silence for another few minutes neither of us wanting to be the first one to talk. We’re both still a little embarrassed by the situation it seems. Eventually, however, Lucatiel speaks, “I think we should continue onwards soon if you’re ready. You’ll still need your armor, so if you like I can retrieve it.” She says, as she stands up. I get a good look at her shapely legs as she pulls them back into her trousers and boots.

I pondered the thought for a moment before thinking about the state of the armor. It wasn’t of much quality to begin with and it now has a great hole on both sides of the breastplate. “I am alright, I have spares that I can access.” I reply.

I lean towards the bonfire, still holding the blanket over my breasts, when I notice her staring at me. “Sorry,” she realizes, “I’ll give you some privacy,” she says before turning her back to the fire.

With her back turned I reach towards the fire with both hands, letting the blanket drop, before plunging my hands straight into the flames themselves. Instead of burning me, the flames merely obscure my hands and when I pull them out, I see clutched between them is the item I wanted to retrieve. A neat pile of clothes, made for traveling, as well as some simple leather armor. I quickly stand up and set about changing into the gear. Before long I feel back to normal, in armor and with a sword at my side. A different one, which I also retrieved from the fire.

Lucatiel is still staring away from me, I’m surprised she didn’t peek the whole time I was changing, if I were in her position I don’t know if I could have resisted the temptation. I clamp a gloved hand onto her shoulder before giving her a smile and I am again surprised when she gives a small smile back. She confidently walks to the open door of the cell and I follow. Together we walk up the wide staircase of the hall and together we emerge onto the ramparts of a seaside castle, under pale moonlight. 

Looking at my surroundings I recognize this place, not from my own memory but from the words of that peculiar cat Shalquoir, she told me of a Bastille where undead were rounded up and kept locked away from the rest of the world. And of the Lost Sinner who tortures themselves endlessly in the bowels of the once great prison. 

It’s quite an uplifting story for an undead, isn’t it.


	10. The Bastille Part 3

_"Royal Swordsman's Armor - Its shape provides defense while allowing great mobility. Stripped of ornamentation, this particular armor is designed strictly for battle._ _King Vendrick supplied his bravest men with the best armor available to face the great giants, but very few returned alive."_

POV: Dianne

Cold winds of the sea pelt the stubborn stone walls of the bastille. As I follow Lucatiel onto the ramparts I can see just how far above the waves we are. For a moment the morbid thought hits me that a fall from this height onto the rocky shores below would kill me in an instant. Along with my undeath I developed a nasty habit of constantly thinking about ways I can die. After the first few deaths, mostly from natural things like exposure, I guess I became more aware of my fragility.

“I hope you don’t intend to jump. It’ll only be a waste of time,” Lucatiel says, and I realize I had been staring over the edge.

“Sorry, just lost in thought.” 

She silently waves for me to follow her and she turns to walk further along the rampart. I rush to catch up with her. For a time we say nothing. The sound of our footsteps are the only interruption to the ever blowing winds. Ahead, I can where the rampart ends. At some point the structure had crumbled leaving a sizable breach in the wall. I can see a lone knight near the edge, sitting with its back against the crenelations. From it’s cracked white armor I recognize it as one of the knights of Heide, undead knights of a once proud land who now lay hollowed and scattered throughout the land. I subconsciously glance at Lucatiel, wondering if the knights of Mirrah might suffer a similar fate. 

Lucatiel and I have stopped at a safe distance from the knight. It is inert like the other knights I have encountered. Although at this point I know that any outward sign of hostility will cause it to attack. Lucatiel breaks the silence, “You’ve seen one of these before?” 

She must have read my expression, I forget I’m not wearing the visored helmet I was so accustomed to. “I have,” I respond, “If we’re careful we won’t have to fight it. Even hollowed, they seem to have some kind of code, as if they’ll only attack if attacked.”

Lucatiel grunts in acknowledgment as she turns to look at the knight ahead, behind her mask I know she’s thinking of something. 

“Can I ask you something?” I say, as she looks ahead.

Without moving she replies, “You just did.” She chuckles softly and I blush despite myself, “My apologies,” she says, “What would you like to know?”

“When we first met back at the wharf, when you told me why you came here I figured you were like any other glory seeker.” She stiffens slightly as I speak, “But after I discovered that you saved me I knew you were different.”

“You flatter me with your words, but you haven’t asked your question.” She seems uncomfortable. 

With some hesitation I ask, “I feel like the explanation you gave is a lie. I think you have some other reason for being here and it has nothing to do with souls. Are you trying to find a cure for the curse?” 

She slowly, almost subconsciously holds a hand to her mask, over the eye that bears the effects of the curse. Silence hangs in the air before she answers, “No.” She takes a deep breath, some of the tension in her body leaves when she exhales, but I can tell she is uncomfortable. “At least… not at first.”

“What do you mean?”

I hear a click as she takes off her mask to look me in the eye. For the third time since meeting her, I get to see her face. Just minutes ago we were resting at a bonfire, but she looks exhausted. “I had an older brother. He was always the better swordsman. In all our duels I never came close to besting him.” She almost seems to strain like the memories are difficult to recall. “On the same day that I discovered my curse, he disappeared without a word. I haven’t seen him since. I know now that the curse must have taken him too. It has to be why he left. Why he left me behind.” She turns away from me to look at the knight sitting forgotten on the rampart. “I feel ashamed to admit it but I’m afraid.” She shudders as if she’s holding in tears, “With each hollow I encounter, I fear more and more that the next one I see will be my brother.”

I reach a hand to Lucatiel’s shoulder and for a moment she tenses at the touch before relaxing. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have asked if I knew it would hurt you.”

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “You deserved to know, I’m sorry for lying to you earlier.”

“You don’t need to apologize, everyone has their secrets.”

With one fluid movement she clicks her mask back into place, she’s no longer the vulnerable, emotional Lucatiel I was speaking to. She’s Lucatiel of Mirrah. “I suggest we take out that knight before we move further on.” She says it almost like a command, I can only agree.

… 

Working together, we push the now dead knight over the crenelations on the wall, and a few seconds later I hear him impact the rocks below. Though we defeated him like all undead, hollows come back after they’re killed. Lucatiel is the one who suggested we dispose of him before he comes back. The exertion of lifting him over the wall left me breathing heavy, and though she doesn’t show it, I can tell it was difficult for Lucatiel too. I pick up the sword and scabbard that I took off his corpse before we threw him over. I don’t have to look at the blade to know it has some sort of lightning enchantment on it. Getting hit by the thing told me that well enough. I buckle it to my sword belt on the opposite side of the broadsword I’m already carrying. 

Lucatiel eyes the new sword at my belt and softly chuckles to herself, “I remember what you told me about how you got your armor, I see you’re quite the scavenger.” 

I blush a deep red remembering what exactly happened regarding that set of armor. “W-well, it’s a n-nice sword and it’s not like he’s going to be using it.” I smile despite my embarrassment, “I’m not any sort of knight.” I say with some sarcasm, “I’m so poor I must scrape and beg for my means of slaughter. Oh, woe is me!” I pretend to collapse dramatically, holding a clenched hand to my chest. 

For the first time since I’ve met her I hear Lucatiel actually laugh. It’s not like before when she would chuckle or smirk to herself, this is a laugh that’s meant to be shared with others. And when I hear it, I feel deep inside that I want to hear it again. It’s fleeting and beautiful, like estus. I laugh with her.

A few seconds later and she’s back to her normal self, stoic as ever. Carefully, we look over to the inside of the walls, there’s a kind of courtyard on the inside with hollowed soldiers, they might have once been guards for this prison, in a way they still are. Most are armed with swords but a few others have crossbows, they are standing atop makeshift scaffolding that looks as if it could fall under the slightest disturbance, though they seem not to mind. There are even undead dogs among the hollows, they’re as decayed and hollow as their human counterparts. With some effort I remember that I died to one once, not from the wounds it inflicted but the diseases that came with. 

I look over to Lucatiel, it’s moments like these where her experience in warfare comes to the surface. I can tell she’s already devised a strategy of what to attack in what order. She holds her chin in one hand as she hums to herself in contemplation. 

“You have a plan?” I ask. 

“I do.” She answers, without shifting her gaze.

I wait in silence expecting her to elaborate, “...And?” I say when the silence starts to get to me. 

I feel as if under the mask she is smirking. “We should take out the dogs first.” She stands up from our kneeling position at the edge of the ramparts and begins to walk towards a ladder leading to the courtyard.

I stay perplexed for a moment before replying, “That’s the plan?”

She’s already taken a few steps down the ladder when she looks up at me, “Yes.” She utters, with no acknowledgement of my concern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, in November: "Man, I know I'm busy with classes but I haven't posted in a month. I should really get around to writing the next chapter." 
> 
> Me, another month later: "Fuck."
> 
> In all seriousness, sorry for the late chapter. I know I've kept some of you waiting and I want to hold myself to a higher standard coming forward when it comes to the fanfics I've already started. That being said, my plan going forward is to alternate between new chapters of this fic and the other fics I have ideas for or are working on.  
> Thanks so much to all of you who have kept up with the fic despite my shitty upload schedule, you're all amazing. I plan to post again soon... hopefully.


	11. The Bastille Part 4

_ “Ultra Greatsword of the Pursuer. - Known as the mightiest of the straight swords, it demands great strength and dexterity of its wielder. The Pursuer hunts down those branded by the curse, as if each Undead soul that he claims will atone one of his sins.” _

POV: Dianne

_ In hindsight the plan wasn’t necessarily a bad one. But she could have at least put a little more thought into it.  _

I follow after Lucatiel as she climbs down the ladder. As I step down its rungs I can already hear the barking of the dogs waiting below us. She doesn’t waste any time, jumping from her position on the ladder. She lands, sword already in hand and a split second later the first dog reaches her only to be carved down for the effort. I make haste down the rest of the ladder. 

By the time I reach the bottom she is already cutting through the bulk of them, man and beast alike. The weight of her sword would make it a two-hander for any lesser swordsman, but she effortlessly swings it with one arm, simultaneously parrying with her shield. 

I realize I’ve been standing at the ladder watching her fight for the past few seconds and I fumble with my equipment clumsily drawing my now two swords. Seeing that she’s holding her own against the main group I decide to run towards the crossbowmen on their makeshift scaffolding. 

The crossbowmen shift their aim from Lucatiel to me and they release their volley. I hear the whistle of the bolts sailing just over my head as I sprint forward. I plant a foot onto one of the rotting posts holding the platform up and I push against it, feeling the wood crack and splinter like a burning log. The rest of the structure comes tumbling with it and soon the undead soldiers are in a heap among the wreckage. From there, it’s easy to cut them down. 

I hear footsteps approaching behind me and I turn to see that two of the soldiers splintered off to fight me. One of them swings a bastard sword down at me and I reflexively cross my swords above my head, catching the blade. The other one is close behind, it swings its own sword at my side. I dodge fruitlessly away as it cuts painfully across my ribs. Ignoring the pain, I push against the first soldier knocking him off balance before desperately hacking at him. 

I stab into him with my broadsword and the blade lodges itself in his spine. I let go of the hilt as he falls backwards. Pain erupts across my back as the other soldier slashes against it. Gripping my sword in both hands, I turn swinging my sword more like a bludgeon at the hollow. Our swords clash together over and over, the steel shrieking with every blow, until at last he falters. I blindside him, cutting sideways at his waist, just below where the breastplate ends. Blood spurts forth from the wound and the hollow leers forward from the blow leaving his neck exposed. With a clean slice, I behead the soldier. 

Gasping for breath, I look up. Lucatiel stands uninjured and surrounded by corpses. She single handedly killed twice as many of our foes as a I did, and she did it without once letting her guard slip. She’s incredible. I never put much thought into combat before I met her. I never had the need to fight before becoming inflicted with the curse. And with the guarantee that I could come back from any fight I consistently put caution to the wind, throwing myself into danger without any heed for my safety. But she fights like someone with a life to lose. 

I’ve also never put much thought into just how little skill I have with a blade. I’m suddenly rather embarrassed of the wounds I gained during the fight. I see Lucatiel assume a more relaxed stance as she gracefully sheathes her sword. She turns to see me just as I’m struggling to wrench my broadsword out of the hollow I left it in. My cheeks flush in embarrassment as I feel her eyes looking me over for wounds. “Are you alright?” She asks, simply. 

I nod, perhaps a little aggressively. This damn sword won’t come loose, every time I try to pull it out I inevitably drag the corpse along with it. “Yes, I’m fine. No problems here,” I lie.

She begins to step towards me, “You’re injured.” 

“I’m fine really.” I say through gritted teeth. 

She places a hand on the pommel of the broadsword in my hands, “Please, allow me.” I relent, taking my hands off the blade. She plants a foot down on the corpse and with a practiced motion, pulls the sword free before handing it to me hilt first. 

I accept it, feeling sheepish, “I loosened it up for you.” 

She chuckles at that, “There’s no shame in asking for help.”

I smile despite myself, “I know.” My vision is a bit fuzzy, I know the wound in my back is still bleeding. I sheathe my swords before taking a drink from my estus flask. The warmth of it spreads throughout my body filling my wounds. Even under the cold light of the moon, estus makes me feel like I’m standing in the sunlight. Fully healed, I put the flask away. 

“Have you ever fought with two swords before?” Lucatiel asks.

“I can’t say I have.” 

Lucatiel seems to study me for a moment, “The next time we reach a bonfire we should spar. It would allow me to give you some pointers on your swordsmanship.”

I almost reflexively refuse the offer out of a misplaced feeling of shame. But, my better judgement takes over. “I… uh, I think that’d be great.”

She seems pleased with the answer, she looks over the courtyard now littered with corpses. “There’s a gap in the wall over there,” she says pointing out where the stone wall of the inner bastille was hastily boarded up. “If it was important enough for them to board that up, then in all likelihood that’s where we should be going.” 

I can only nod in agreement. I follow her as she walks to the wall sword in hand. As she starts hacking away at the boards I look behind us, eying the corpses for any valuable items they might have. When I look over the field, however, I see dark magic pooling in the center of the courtyard. The magic looks similar enough to the hexes of certain magic users. An all too familiar figure manifests slowly from the dark magic. 

The knight, if one can call him that, is staggeringly tall with a shield and greatsword matching the bulk of his frame. The blade has to be six feet in length at the very least, it’s surface gleams pale white with magic. He is covered head to toe with armor of a twisted and gnarled fashion, faces of long defeated undead line its surface permanently shaped into expressions of terror. Bundled over his back are the weapons of those undead, trophies from his victims. The only hint at what lies beneath is the visor through which comes a red glow and what little gaps there are in the armor through which dark energy rises like black smoke. It’s as if the magic he uses is straining against the armor like water behind a dam. He fully emerges from the portal, drawing his sword from the inky blackness of the fissure before it dissipates. 

I feel the red glow of his visor focus on me and he moves with a startling swiftness over the ground, his feet not even touching it. In the back of my mind I’m screaming at myself to move but some part of me knows that it would be pointless. A split second later he is upon me, his sword already moving. I raise my arms reflexively knowing that it will do nothing to stop his blow. 

He swings his sword in a sideways arc ready to cut me in half. I feel a strong tug at the back of my collar. I stumble backwards, fruitlessly trying to regain my balance as the greatsword slices through the space I was just occupying. I quickly realize I’ve been pulled through the gap in the wall. The Pursuer, too broad to fit through the breach, instead gazes at me as if he’s memorizing my face. Black smoke begins to envelop him and in a few seconds he disappears into the dark magic. In vain, I attempt to steady my breath, all the while my heart is pounding away in my chest. I feel like I need to run or I’ll die but I’m unable to move. 

Lucatiel breaks me out of my thoughts, kneeling down and grabbing me by the shoulders. “Dianne, are you alright?” I feel her hands against my torso searching for wounds, “You just froze up, I thought you were going to die.” Despite her typically stoic exterior, her voice drips with concern. I feel ashamed of the worry I caused. 

“I… I’m sorry. Your concern is wasted on me.” I look down at the floor, unwilling to meet her gaze. 

“Nonsense,” she replies reflexively. She looks away for a moment quickly scanning the room like a commander surveying a battlefield. She looks back at me, “Can you stand?” I can only nod.

She grabs my hand and pulls me to a standing position, “Thank you.” I say, feeling like dead weight. 

Lucatiel scans the room again before pointing to an iron barred door on the far side of the room, “That must lead further into the Bastille.” She puts a hand to her chin as she thinks aloud. “With other circumstances I’d have us rest here for a moment, but there’s no telling whether or not that thing will come back for us.” She walks to the iron door and pulls on its handle, it’s locked. “You seem to have some history with him.” She says it almost like a question, like she’s trying to probe for answers without upsetting me. 

“Something like that.” I’m having trouble looking her in the eye.

“You’ve crossed blades with him?” 

I sigh through my nose, “Unsuccessfully, yes.”

She stops in her efforts of opening the door and she looks at me. “Do you wish to change that?”

It was an odd question, but I had a sense as to where she was going with this. “Yes.”

She reaches a hand up to remove her mask. Her expression is the most determined I’ve ever seen on her face. “Then that’s what we shall do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta say, the Pursuer is such a fun boss to write with. He is simultaneously simply as a direct, threatening enemy, while also having a bunch of fun lore around. Dianne has also been cut in half more times than she'd like to admit. Haven't we all. Ngl her not having beaten the Pursuer is loosely based on my first playthrough of DS2 where I used far too many effigies trying to beat this guy. :/


	12. A Tale of Two Duels

_“Homeward - A miracle that returns the caster to the last bonfire rested at. Traditionally, its destination was the caster's homeland. The curse slowly erodes one's memory, until even one's birthplace is reduced to a figment of a clouded past. But the bonfires are constant, a beacon for the tragically afflicted.”_

POV: Lucatiel

With a groan of annoyance, I wake groggily, my sleep disturbed by sounds near to the edge of my hearing. For not the first time in my life, I curse the fact that I’m a light sleeper. On my back, I stare up at the brown tarp of the war tent trying in vain to return to sleep. After a futile few minutes I resign myself to an early morning and sit up. The blanket covering me falls to my waist, exposing my bare chest to the cold night air. The sleeping woman next to me shivers involuntarily at the sudden chill where my body just was. That’s right, I forgot this was her tent, despite the night we shared I struggle to remember her name. Maria, I think. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. 

I get up from under the blanket, and with a quiet haste I shrug on my trousers, boots, and shirt before, finally, I don my hat and mask. I grab my sword tucked neatly away in its scabbard and I sling it over my shoulder before stepping out of the tent into the moonlit night. The air feels fresh and cold after being inside the tent with its stale air. It’s well past midnight, yet at this late hour the camp is still active. It reminds me of that old saying: ‘an army is never still.’ Soldiers never do well to be idle too long and even as I walk along the rows of tents I can see a handful of sparring matches, games of dice, and on occasion, the kind of debauchery one expects of an army. The tents, while functional in their purpose of privacy, leave much to be desired when it comes to masking sound. Not that I have any right to complain. 

I walk to the edge of camp, where the forest of tents ends and the untamed grassland begins. The grass shines a dull silver in the moonlight, reflecting in the wind like ocean waves. I stare out over it’s rolling hills that stretch endlessly to the horizon. In the distance I can see small splotches of orange light, they stand out like stars against the night sky. I can tell from the way they’re clumped together that it’s a group of travelers, likely the scouts that had been sent out. Seems like we’re going to start moving again after three days of boredom. 

I hear the sound of a sharp crack to my left, and I instinctually jump to my right, hand already on my sword. I look to where the noise came and I see Aslatiel who has, in a bit of a sarcastic manner, held out his hands to show that he is unarmed. He is in full armor with the exception of his mask which I see hanging at his belt. I relax my stance with a sigh, “Brother, what are you doing here?”

He grasps a hand to his chest with an over dramatic gasp. “By the looks of it, I’m about to be cut down by my own flesh and blood.” He falls to both knees, “Oh dear sister, won’t you find it in your heart to spare your poor, handsome, talented brother.” 

He busts out laughing at his own joke, and I laugh despite myself. “Alright, that’s enough.” I say extending a hand to pull him up. 

He accepts, taking my hand. “I should be the one asking why you’re here. But since you asked first. I am on sentry duty.” 

I raise an eyebrow at that, “Really, someone at your rank assigned to the night guard.”

He chuckles, “Made a joke at the wrong person’s expense I’m afraid.”

I sigh, “You should know better than to insult the general at this point.”

“It’s his fault,” he explains, “The man just makes it so easy, it would be harder to make fun of him if he removed the eight foot pike out of his ass.” 

“Please explain to me how you’re the older sibling.”

He chuckles, “Twist of fate I suppose.” He unslings the sword and scabbard from his back planting it point first in the turf before resting his hands on the crossguard. “So tell me,” he says with a devilish smile, “How’d your night with Maria go?”

My face burns under the cold metal of my mask, “None of your business.” I say curtly. 

“It is most certainly my business,” He retorts with mock offense. “As your brother it is my sworn duty to aid you in the battlefield of romantic endeavors.”

I groan at his words, “Your metaphors have gotten even worse lately.”

“But Luca,” he continues, his words dripping with the kind of mockery only a sibling can provide, “If you keep walking out on potential partners, like you’ve obviously done tonight, then how will you ever find a wife?”

I groan even louder, “Has it occurred to you that maybe I don’t want a wife!”

“Well you certainly don’t want a husband.” He smirked.

Inside, my temper flares. But I know what he wants, the true motivation behind this line of inane questioning. I unsling the scabbard off my back, he smiles drawing his sword out of its scabbard before tossing the scabbard away. I do the same.

We settle into the stances we had been drilled into for the better part of our lives as we prepare for our duel. We circle each other in the tall grass of the field, taking careful steps one after another. If I wasn’t already aware of his skill, I’d say Aslatiel is at a disadvantage in this fight. The mask on my face keeps others from seeing my facial expressions, it’s a small thing to notice, but they can give away attacks right before they happen. But I know Aslatiel, and I know that he always wears a smile in battle. One that never wavers.

He attacks first, moving with blinding speed, his body is a blur against the dark grass, his position given away only by the glint of moonlight shining across his blade. He swings his sword down in an obvious overhead swing, I raise my sword to block it only to be blindsided when he reverses his blade swinging at my exposed side. I dodge out of the way, clearing the blade by less than an inch. 

I have no time to think as he rains blow upon blow upon me, it’s like fighting four swordsmen at once. I block what blows I can, dodging those I cannot. Even so, I know the only reason I’m not cut to ribbons is that he’s holding himself back. Each impact of our blades vibrates through the hilt, I can feel my hands getting numb. If the duel is tiring Aslatiel, he doesn’t show it. My breath comes in ragged bursts, even in the cold night air I feel sweat dripping down my back and on my hands. If I’ve any chance to win this duel it needs to be now, before I succumb to fatigue. 

I deflect a blow, then I counter. He parries it like he’s swatting away a fly. But I continue to attack and soon the roles have been switched, only he isn’t blocking a single blow. Each one is deflected, parried, or avoided altogether. It’s like there’s an invisible wall of steel around him that’s impossible to pierce. 

I stab forward, hoping to knock him off his balance. But, he thrusts at a downward angle and our swords clash together, the crossguards locking in place as we struggle against the other’s grip. Suddenly, the tension is released and I fall forward and before I know it my sword is out of my hands. I fall onto my back only to be greeted by two swords at my throat. He won. 

My brother sheathes his own sword before offering a hand to me, and I begrudgingly take it. Once I’m on my feet, he hands me back my sword. I study the blade in my hands, seeing a brand new collection of knicks across its edge. As if losing the duel wasn’t enough of a punishment, I now get to spend some quality time sharpening my sword. 

I sigh, “This is why no one wants to duel against you.” I say to him.

“Hah, our enemies aren’t going to go easy on you, so neither will I.” He retorts.

Despite him being the source of my annoyance, I can’t help but smile. “Are you really quoting the drillmaster now? I thought you hated him.”

“True enough.” Aslatiel smirks, “But that doesn’t preclude him from being right.”

… 

“Are you ready?” I ask Dianne. She’s clearly nervous, turning her broadsword over in her hands. We’re in the cell with the bonfire, to one side of the room is the equipment we decided to discard: her other sword, our traveling supplies, and my hat, mask, and shield. On the other side of the room, with the bonfire to our right, we stand facing one another, swords drawn. 

It was Dianne who suggested that we duel near the bonfire, I insisted it wasn’t necessary, but she said that she wanted our duels to be as real as possible. Being undead, wounds were hardly permanent, and when near a bonfire, it is next to impossible to kill an undead. She has a point, there one thing that isn’t entirely replicated by sparring is the injuries one will inevitably receive on the battlefield. Yet still, I’m far from enthusiastic about the prospect of injuring her even if it is for her benefit. Just looking at the apprehension in her brown eyes fills me with a feeling of guilt. We both know who’s going to be on the receiving end of most if not all of the blows exchanged. 

Dianne exhales, her shoulders lowering with the released tension. “I’m ready.” 

Without another word I rush at her and our sword song begins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty I think Aslatiel has been the hardest character to write in this story thus far. I guess it's just a result of how Dark Souls games tell their stories. Because while he is extremely important when in comes to this story in particular, he never even gets a line of dialogue in the actual game. So all we know of his is through what Lucatiel says. But here I am bitching about it. If you're reading this, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I hope to have another one out before too long.


End file.
